The Paradice Prison

"That's the thing about thing about this city..." the voice trailed off down the street before 'that thing' was revealed, but they all knew...it was no secret.

The constant stream of people passing by talked about this and that, but they never stopped to acknowledge those that were not at eye level.

"Hey have you tried the grilled squid over on Xandar street. I hear the vendor sells out by noon every day. Come on! Lets go before a crowd shows up!" The young man called out to his fellows as they rushed to keep up with him. Wishing to be invited was a forbidden exercise. It just would never happen. Squid, what were those?

Every once in a while someone would walk up and feed them. Small things really, nothing fancy or extravagant, and certainly nothing new. By the gods they would surrender their lives before feeding them anything of real value. Still it was nice to be thought of if even only a little bit.

Children ran in packs, wild dogs with nothing better to do than to run by make a face and kick them, or use them for some obscure rule in a game. They never asked if they could play, they never even asked if they would play, the mutts only assumed that everything they did was fair, square, and quite all right.

Selenicia; built on the largest port in the southern hemisphere and surrounded by Dwarves to the north and one of the last Allondrian strongholds to the west. Allondrians frequently visited the city but Dwarfs were not seen in Selenicia, not since the first bricks were laid or the last fountain erected. There was heated blood between the dwellers of Maddux Thang, and the Kings of Selenicia, and what was heard from travellers more often than not was it was a good thing mountains separated the nations or war would break apart the land.

Wild rumours stated that the Dwarves had been digging tunnels through the mountains to siege the lands in the south. The were not true. They knew new the rumours to be false on the street, they always were.

True to their form, the commoners went about their business, day to day with out much to worry about and even less care. If they only knew the kings cavorting, and meddling with evil sorts to would drag their sons and daughters deep in despair.

They watched a small group of nobles walked by wearing bright colours borrowed from a stray rainbow that had the misfortune of falling to its doom in the dye makers torture chamber. The rather bloody mess of reds, blues, yellows, greens, and oranges, but no violet. Violet was the one colour the nobles were forbidden to wear. They knew, they knew.

Plunk! Plunk! Plunk! Three plunks in total and not a single plunk more. They tossed metal discs into the water at their feet to say a little prayer and make a little wish, and walk away to brag to all their friends. A simple folk these people were, a simple folk their masters demanded. They all watched as others with worldly intents came up to make their small sacrifice.

Dawn had turned to day, day to dusk, and dusk diminished in dying light that drowned the city in darkness. Every night by rote and by note, the candle lighters would walk the streets and fill the lamps with flames that burned til the night could only be inhabited by those refusing the sweet embrace of sheets and pillow, singing their eiry little songs that filled them all with dread.

"Be still ye darkness, be gone ye lest, by mornings light ye find your hide, strung by the hero's light the sun aflame in mornings tide." It was the only line they sang as if it was the only song there was to sing. They sang to ward the shadows and keep them from working their wills.

It did little to stop them, they could not be stopped!

When the chandlers had lit their last lamp the people from all around the city would walk into the square and sing the single lined song if only to beg them to fill the streets with blood.

By nights end, love had been won and lost, and won again. Battles they called, "Duels" were quelled or taken elsewhere and the crowd that stood milling about thinned till only the drunk remained. A plague of caterpillars they crawled about with as much sense and direction seeking only sustenance until the grip of death took them.

They could have taken them for everything they had, but they did not. No respectable man would do such a thing and the law forbade it, so that was that. Still it was tempting to splash water on these creeping prepubescent butterflies, if only to see them squirm whilst they stew in their cocoons.

By morning light all was right again the lamps were doused and the caterpillars rounded up by the magistrate who complained more about the necessity of it all rather than stripping the skin off the poor senseless creatures.

They would not allow it. The magistrate knew that and so refrained from his most heinous wish, but took the drunks and filled his prison till they could return to do it all again.

Days and Nights had gone by by the score. Days with no number, and seasons by signs. The night sky held their secret as did the chains that bound them, except for one night of the year.

That night starts say another story all together, and those who know it's secret remain indoors. They and all their kin were free to roam the city which ever way they wished and some only wished to be tricks. They knew, they knew but the people of the city only thought they knew.

The saw the city from up above, they saw it from deep beneath, and those who prayed a fervent psalm did so to ward of their evil ways. They danced and they flew, they revelled and they played, the single night they could not be held by their prisons of unnatural grey.

Children of the dragon they were called, a marvel of modern art by some, but to others they were merely the subject of ill begotten prayers. Wishes and curses all but came from the same lips, and those who were destined to breath not fire but water for eternity sought their ways to exact revenge.

Coins tossed to the winged beasts by daily rites they gathered up to horde the in the mountain lair the number six hundred thousand twenty four. Such the odds that they should rest but once in the year on such measly sums, but the power it gave the greed they felt they knew, oh yes they knew, it would not be long before the tale would soon be met.

Before the day once more chained their souls to the ornaments of that prison, they danced their last dance across the sky a curse to the man who locked them there. By morning light the city once more would gather as one to sing their hateful tune. ‘Til next year’, they all thought in unison.

That was the thing about that city, it was a prison and a paradise of fools.